


Floor It

by there_must_be_a_lock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Edging, F/M, Objectification, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Dean Winchester, Praise Kink, Sub!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/there_must_be_a_lock/pseuds/there_must_be_a_lock
Summary: She hasn’t let him come for five days.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 13
Kudos: 56





	Floor It

Dean knows he’s in trouble as soon as he feels her hand curl around his wrist. He’s trying to drive safe, but he can’t resist looking at her out of the corner of his eye, catching a glimpse of her mischievous smile and her dress hitched up high on her thighs. 

She hasn’t let him come for five days. 

He’s gone much longer than that, of course, when he was on his own, and it never really bothered him. This, though… he feels like a fucking teenager again. Five days, and he’s about to explode. All it takes is a whiff of her perfume, a glimpse of her skin, and he’s getting hard so fast it makes him dizzy. 

Maybe it’s partly that this is still relatively new, this thing between them. He’s so entranced by every-fucking-thing she does. He wants to fuck her through the floor every time she looks at him. 

But... she had given him that sultry smile and cocked her head all bright-eyed and asked if he wanted to play a game, and like an idiot, he said yes. 

“Think you can wait?” she asked, rubbing the head of his cock between her legs, letting him feel how wet she was, and he’d twitched helplessly, straining against the cuffs hard enough that he’d given himself bruises. 

Bruises that she’s squeezing deliberately, now, as she tugs his hand away from the wheel. He spares a glance sideways to see the way she’s watching him, tilting her head back against the headrest and biting her lip as she drags his palm up her thigh until his fingers brush slick skin; of _course_ she’s not wearing underwear. She wriggles, spreading her legs, and cups his fingers over her cunt, and she’s so fucking wet his hand is slippery with it, she’s hot and swollen and dripping, and he’s so goddamn hard he can barely see straight. 

“If you can be a good boy,” she purred, that first night, “if you can do everything I ask you to, then I’ll let you come. Would you like that?” And she worked herself down around him inch by inch, impossibly tight, fucking _perfect_ , and he promised to do _anything_ she wanted. 

He meant it, too, but he never expected _this._

He slides two fingers into her, twisting his arm at an awkward angle to reach, but it’s worth it when she groans. He can feel the way she’s squeezing around his fingers, close already, using him as her own personal sex toy. He’s almost embarrassed to admit how much he fucking _loves_ it. 

“Again?” he asks hoarsely. She laughs, holding his hand in place, rocking her hips up to get his fingers deeper. 

“C’mon, you should know by now what a filthy little slut I am,” she croons, breathy, and his eyes almost roll back in his head. And yeah, the way she talks, the _mouth_ on her, that does it for him in ways he can’t even explain, but at this point he’s been so worked up for so long that just the _sound_ of her voice makes him shiver. 

The first day, she sidled up behind him in the kitchen while he made coffee, rubbing him through his sweatpants. As soon as he was really getting into it, starting to rock forward into the heat of her hand, she whispered in his ear: “Get on your knees.” She pulled his hair to show him where she wanted him, and she hooked one leg over his shoulder and _kept_ him there. By the time she decided she was done, his knees ached, his dick was so hard it fucking _hurt_ , and she just patted his hair and told him he’d done a good job. 

He got himself under control, somehow, and went about his day, and the residual buzz under his skin had almost been enjoyable. 

That night, she tied him up, rode him hard and fast, grinding down onto his cock, pinching her own nipples, rubbing her clit, putting on such a show that he wondered if it’d be worth it to just take whatever punishment she decided to dole out if he came without permission. 

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ ,” she snapped, low and dangerous in his ear, squeezing around him, while he writhed and whimpered and managed to hold back. 

He’s fucking amazed how wet she is, considering she’s already come twice today; he woke up to her fingering herself next to him, sleepy and lazy, and after she arched up with this gorgeous sigh, panting his name, she made him lick her fingers clean before pushing him onto his back and riding his mouth until she was dripping down his chin. She kept looking down at him, grinning wickedly, telling him _exactly_ how she wanted it, and he’s pretty sure that particular memory will be in his spank bank for the rest of his life. 

And _now_ , she’s looking at him like she wants to eat him alive, and it’s all he can do to tear his eyes away and focus on the road. Dean’s so hard he’s straining against his zipper, but the discomfort is welcome; without the pain to hold him back a little, he’s not sure he’ll get through this drive without creaming his pants like he’s fourteen years old again. 

“I think about you all the time,” she says, low and silky. “Think about the things I want to do with you… can barely take it, sometimes, the other day when we were out I thought I was gonna leave a wet spot on the stool, almost just begged you to fuck me right there against the bar with everybody watching. I think about choking on that big cock, think about your mouth, your fingers… gets me so fucking wet… _see_?” 

She tugs his hand out from under her dress, holding him by the wrist and _showing_ him, and even in the dim glow of passing streetlamps he can see the way his fingers are glistening. 

He makes a raw, animalistic sort of noise, shifting in his seat to try to get some relief, and he can see her grin out of the corner of his eye. 

“You okay, baby?” she asks, all innocent concern, but then she’s wrapping her lips around his fingers and sucking them, swirling her tongue, and she _moans_ as she tastes herself. 

“You’re so fuckin’ _dirty_ ,” he growls, “so desperate, fucking yourself with my fingers like a whore cause you can’t wait to get home, _fuck_.” 

He pushes his fingers deeper into her mouth, hard enough that she almost chokes, but she swallows greedily and then she’s grabbing at his wrist and _shoving_ his hand back down, whining. Dean’s fingers make an obscene sound when he thrusts them into her. 

He’d come in seconds if she touched him right now. He wouldn’t be able to help himself, can’t think about anything besides her wet-hot cunt, the way she _screams_ when he’s really fucking her, when he pushes her down on all fours and gives in and just _goes_ for it. 

Last night, she sat him in a chair at the foot of the bed and she made him watch. She spread her legs and played with her toys and talked to him: “You’re being so good, baby. You’re my favorite toy, you know that?” she said, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment while she continued, “You want to come over here and fuck me? I want to come on your cock, let you feel it… _if_ you think you can control yourself.” 

He almost fucking broke, at that. He _begged_. He got down on his knees next to the bed and he begged like he’d never begged for any woman, _ever_ , and he could see how much she loved it; she came like she’d been shocked, hard and sudden, mouth open in a long, wordless cry. 

He’s never been this hard in his life. He’s never felt _anything_ like this, the way his insides twist and his skin goes hot and he can barely breathe with how much he wants her. And if he’s being honest with himself, it’s not _just_ want, and it hasn’t _just_ been these last couple days. She’s made him feel this way from the second he met her, and he knows, deep down, that he is in _so_ far over his head. 

She gets her foot up on the dash, legs spread shamelessly, fingers digging painfully into his bruised wrist as she holds his hand in place and shoves her hips up. 

She’s babbling, now, voice ragged and wrecked: “Just like that, _fuck_ , your _hands_ … feel what you do to me? Being so good for me, Dean, I’m gonna let you do _anything_ to me, ‘s gonna feel so good, baby, gonna let you come, wanna feel it dripping out of me... I want you to fucking _destroy_ me, want you to fuck me all night until I’m so sore I can’t _walk_ without feeling you, and-” 

And Dean’s gonna crash, he’s sure of it, he’s making the most embarrassing noises as she crushes his hand against her cunt, and her spine bows back and her hips thrust up and she’s shaking through it, her entire body trembling, the most _perfect_ thing Dean’s ever fucking seen. 

There’s a place to pull over and he jerks the wheel hard, feels the brakes protest, and he just needs a _second_ , a fucking _second_ to pull himself together, because otherwise he might fucking explode. She still has his right hand, clenched between her thighs, so he reaches over with his left to put Baby in park. He slumps forward, taking deep breaths with his forehead resting on the steering wheel. 

“Fuck,” she says, like maybe she’s as dazed as he is. 

“I fucking _love_ you,” he says fiercely, without really meaning to, and the silence in the car is so sudden and heavy he’s afraid he’ll choke. 

“Dean,” she whispers. She definitely sounds dazed now. 

“Sorry, sorry, - that was fucking stupid, I just -” He shakes his head and forces himself to look at her, ready to apologize, take it back, chalk it up to how she’s driving him insane... 

She’s beaming, flushed and glowing, with her chest heaving and her dress still up around her hips, filthy and gorgeous. He can see it written all over her face. 

“You gonna take me home now?” she asks, soft and sweet. He fumbles with the gearshift and fucking floors it. 


End file.
